Mission to Warsong Hold
by WolfPaladin
Summary: Short story about a squadron of bombers attacking Warsong Hold from Fizzcrank Airstrip in Northrend. Based on actual events in real life  more specifically, WW II . Slightly modified Gnome Tech.
1. Briefing

**Mission to Warsong Hold**

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><p><strong>Some Straight-Up Disclaimers:<strong>  
>I don't own WoW. (I know I know, already old, but for sake of legal issues...) However, I own all OC's.<p>

The tech used in this mission is based on actual gnome-tech found in the Borean Tundra, which I have slightly modified for story purposes.

And the most important one: - This story is based on an actual mission flown in the Second World War, and detailed in the account "_**Mission to Bremen**_" by John Comer, a US Air Force Turret Gunner on B-17 FF's. Most of it was imported and modified for Fanfic purposes.

Please read and review!

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><p><span>Original Characters:<span>  
>Hagin - Turret gunner (Gnome) (Main Character)<br>Grobnick - Radio and Observer (Gnome)  
>Ames - Bombardier (Human)<br>Korah - Tail gunner (Draenei)  
>Tarkus - Copilot (Dwarf)<br>Sorassa - Pilot (Gnome)

NPC's:  
>Kara Thricestar<p>

Mistie Flitterdawn

Chief Engineeer Galpen Rolltie

Fizzcrank Fullthrottle

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><p><strong>Fizzcrank Airstrip (Fourth Month, 15th Day, 35 ADP - Anno Dark Portal)<strong>

"Ok! Wake up! Showtime! Roster is: Grobnick, Hagin, Ames, Korah and Tarkus flying Fizzcrank Mega-Bomber 755 with Sorassa..."

"Wait, you mean 765 don't you?" I asked in disbelief.

"No, 755 like I said." Insisted Kara Thricestar, the air traffic controller and the one giving the mission.

"But 765 is our ship."

"Not today, some other crew is flying it. Anyhow, good luck." And in a flash, she was gone. Probably to brief other pilots.

"**DAMN!**" exploded Tarkus from his corner. "Giving our ship to some other crew an' makin' us fly un' we've never seen before! Damned clerks!"

"It's a typing error probably, but it's too late to do anything about it. Korah, could you go and rouse Ames - the guy is probably in the tent down near the steam pools. Me and Grobnick are gonna go check the aircraft a bit early - I don't remember seeing aircraft 755." I said, with a sigh. "And, oh, one last thing...Tarkus, go and see what's the briefing about -_ discreetly._"

Everyone nodded and ran off on their tasks. Then I set out to the runway to check the aircraft. As Tarkus said, it was a bit of a blow being assigned to an unknown craft, but hey, this was war - anything could happen.

The bomber, fortunately, was in great shape. Essentially, they had chained two ordinary bombers together with extra space for gunners and a bombardier to make this. It could kick some serious butt, and we knew it. What we didn't know was where we were going - that would be known only after Sorassa the pilot - who was as tough as they come - showed up. The only disturbing thing about her was that she was about as warm as an ice-cube. In contrast, Korah was a lot more cheerful, though you'd expect being a tail gunner should have kept her pessimistic about her life expectancy - meh, details.

But I was a bit apprehensive. Things were going well - too well in my opinion. For this was Northrend, where a hundred little things can go wrong_ very fast_ and make the situation look _very ugly_ in a matter of moments. I had a feeling I was overlooking something. When I said this to Grob, he waved it off. "You're paranoid, that's all. _Never_ think something's too good to be true."

Tarkus came runnning up. "Not too bad, I'd say. 'Bout medium tough this one."

"Any idea where we headed?"

Tarkus shook his head. "Talking all gibberish, codes an' crud. Never did know 'bout 'em."

Just then a mechanostrider came up and the Reagent Vendor for the Airstrip, Mistie Flitterdawn stepped down. She handed us each a vial of some ointment. "Try this one. Rub it where your goggles and helms don't cover. I hope it cuts down on frostbite."

I took the vial, grinning. Mistie was a good one. She never succeeded in finding an ointment to prevent frostbite, but to her credit, she kept trying.

The mechanic who'd been working on the plane drew me aside and asked, "How long you blokes been flying?"

"Since we got here - that makes a year."

He looked relieved. "Who's your pilot?"

"Sorassa."

"Oh, good one. She's tough, that one."

The mechanics put in long hours to fix these craft, and they took pride in their work. They expected damage when they returned, of course, but they would get incensed if an inexerienced crew abused a craft by unnecessary wear and tear on the brakes and engines. Sorassa was one who had a reputation for respecting a craft and the crews who used them who kept the planes in good condidtion.

When the pilot arrived, I began sounding off about how our craft had been assigned to some other crew, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand. "Some stupid clerk made an error. Now quit your bitching and get ready to start engines." She waited until the crew assembled, with a particularly disheveled looking Ames standing next to Korah. "Alright, here's the deal. We're going to bomb Warsong Hold today."

There were some gasps from the crew, including myself. "The Wywern opposition isn't too tough around the base. However, there are some tanks they captured from the steam pools and refitted them for use against air targets -_ very_ accurate ones also, unfortunately. Roughly 150 chimeras too, so watch yourselves. Gryphon Riders from the Wildhammer detachment at Valiance Keep will come with us till the I.P. Our objective is to maximise damage on their harbour infrastructure and their battlements. Any questions?"

I raised my hand. "Why Warsong Hold?"

Sorassa shrugged. "Don't exactly know why, but it seems that King Wrynn has a bit of a score to settle. Also, some Wyvern riders bombed the frontline outside Valiance Keep, with heavy casualties to the 4th Ironforge Rifle Company. Could be one of the two. Don't care really. Anything else." Everybody shook their heads. "Right, saddle up then!"

As I went to my seat near the top turret, I had a feeling this would be somewhat different from the other missions I'd flown.

I had no idea.


	2. Enemy sighted!

**On flight - near the West Rift**

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><p>As we approached the Insertion Point, I went into my regular ritual - "To all the Mechano-gods living or dead, be with us today and keep us from harm..."<p>

Instantly, my brain received a message as clear as if it were coming routinely over the intercom, except that this wasn't audible. "_Orc, Tauren and Blood Elf pilots rising up to meet you are asking the same of their Gods. How can you be so misguided, understand so little?_" Now where had that come from? I never really prayed out of any real devotion - to me it was just a custom. I never really expected a positive answer. My mind reeled as it was exposed to dimension of faith it was unprepared to cope with. Or was it just the effect of the Nexus, not so far away from our flight?

"Navigator to Crew - Gryphonhawks on our right. It's the escort right on time."

"Bombardier to Turret."

"Bombardier to Turret - come in."

I recovered when I realised someone was hailing my position on the intercom. "This is Turret - go ahead."

"Number four engine is vibrating too much - could be detonation."

"Turret to Copilot - what's the Thermogauge Reading on Number Four engine?"

"Uhh, looks normal. About Two-Fifteen."

"That ought to be OK if the reading is accuarate. Do one of the two - switch to Auto-Rich or open the flaps and drop to about Two-Hundred."

I saw the cowl flaps open slightly and a few moments later, Ames's voice came over the intercom. "Number four looks OK now." I made a note to remind Chief Engineer Rolltie to check the Thermogauge Cylinder for Number Four Engine...

We crossed over Amber Ledge and entered Horde Airspace. The Gryphonhawks squawked briefly then dipped their wings and flew back to Valiance Keep. What went through the minds of those dwarves as they broke off from us and left us to the mercy of Hellscream's vicious fighters?

"Tail to Crew! Dragonhawks on our six! More fighters, Wyverns coming up low."

"Copilot to Tail - four Chimeras closing in fast at six o'clock high."

"Turret to Copilot - watch out front for any sign of activity. I'm going to help out Korah."

"OK, Turret."

When I swung around I could hardly believe what I saw. Four Dragonhawks were flying so close together they looked like one enormous Animal with four heads. Surely they didn't mean to attack us that way! The most inexperienced Horde pilot should have known better, but they just kept coming. At six hundred yards I saw the first flashes of Arcane Magic - Firebolts - which was the signal for our formation gunners (_there were some twelve aircraft in a single formation_) to let go with a furious assault with their Auto-guns.

Every fifth round was what we called a tracer - it was a projectile with a cobalt insert in the rear which would ignite and glow brightly as it flew through the air. Suddenly, the sky was ablaze with tracers. Almost all turrets and all the tails unloaded a heavy barrage on those four unfortunate Blood Elves. The mass of heavy calibre slugs was so devastating that there were just a couple of muted screams followed by four puffs of black smoke and a sky filled with red feathers that erased four poorly-trained Horde pilots. They made two horrendous mistakes - one, flying so close as to give us a single target; and two - choosing the worst possible angle of attack where they would have to face the maximum firepower a Mega-bomber formation could bring to bear.

"Tail to Crew - _by the Naaru_, they were crazy! They didn't stand a chance!"

"A good way to commit suicide" muttered Sorassa.

Ames chimed in. "Perhaps in their twisted thinking they were reaching for the Holy Light. If so - I hope they found it!"

"Navigator to crew - Chimeras closing in at nine o'clock level and eleven o'clock level. Get 'em!"

They came at us from four directions. I noted that their defence commander was an Orc - he was on a Wyvern and probably Ko'Kron elite. They were breathing fire - literally - mean and rough and they seemed to have been stirred up by him. It must have been what they saw us do to those four idiots. Bullets, slugs, firebolts and frostbolts, even a bunch of spears every now and then. For the next fifteen minutes it was as savage a fight as I could remember. Even the nearby Dragonkins seemed to have been interested, for I caught a fleeting glimpse of them hovering on the perimeter of the zone of conflict, watching it all coldly it seemed to me.

We were in the low location, where we'd been told the Horde had positioned the captured mechano-tanks. On the first burst of continuous firing the turret-gyroscope jumped out of position, stopping the action. I crawled out, removed the cumbersome electric gloves and reset the clutch manually. The turret was quickly back in action. But again, on the next burst of prolonged fire, the damned thing jumped out again!

"Turret to Copilot - the damn turret-gyro keeps jumping out. Must be a weak spring. Let me wire it in position."

"OK, but hurry it up! If the turret is out of action for too long, the fighters will notice it. We're screwed then."

As fast as possible, I re-engaged the clutch and wrapped copper wire around it to hold it in position - I hoped. As I climbed back into the turret, a _particularly_ nasty Undead warlock on his Wyvern zoomed past, spraying us with shadow bolts. One of the bolts knocked out my intercom phones. I did manage to piece together the mike hurriedly, but the earphone system was dead.

I wondered what else was waiting to go wrong.


	3. Bombs Awaaaaay!

As we approached Warsong Hold, the mechano-tanks opened up. The air ahead suddenly became saturated with black pock-marks - the shells of those guns. I shuddered. _What the nether...how were we going to get through something like that?_ Intense firing from the ground was a lot less dangerous than being attacked by flying warriors, but it was also more scary - there was no way you could fight back at bursting shells.

I knew how accurate the control systems for the tanks were - we had spent hours ripping them apart when we got them from the steam-pools. Not to mention the fact that I noticed that the flak clouds were adjusting to our flightpath, which meant that they had developed some sort of tracking system - probably Goblin Engineered. Damn those green runts - selling their knowledge for money! Had they no shame?

My train of thoughts was rudely interrupted though.

**CRASH!** The noise came from below me. I dropped down into the cabin to survey the damage, but could see nothing - the whole place awas smogged up because of that shell. My first fear was that both Tarkus and Sorassa were either dead or seriously injured, but as the smoke cleared, I saw that they were okay, though shaken.

"Turret to Copilot. Are either of you hurt? My earphones are dead, so give me some sign."

Tarkus swung around and waved his hand, giving a thumbs-up - _they were okay_.

I quickly climbed back into my post. Several Wyverns were circling our formation, attacking ruthlessly. I had a hellish time tracking each one down and trying to eliminate as many as I could. I got a fright as one Troll jumped onto the craft and began clawing at the engine with his spear - he didn't get far before my Auto-Gun tore into him, ripping his arm off and sending him screaming to his death below. The spear was still embedded into the wing, but it wouldn't be a problem - the wing had been coated with Thorium.

However, I got quite a shock as I swung around from the wing to my right. A_ huge_ mass the size of a mechanostrider was flying right alongside us! It glistened in the bright light of the Tundra Sun like a diamond. I whimpered - _What in the name of all that was holy **WAS** that thing? Some new weapon the Horde had developed? If it exploded, we were finished._ I hid on the opposite sie of the Computing sight to avail of what small cover was available until it began to break up and dissolve into a thousand shimmering particles that fanned out around and below us. How the nether did it get up here? What was it?

The Wyverns were veering off, too low for me to get a clear shot. Just then there was a small explosion near Engine Three and it began to vibrate violently - it had been hit! Then another smash just below me and my Earphones were working again! (Like an old voice-transmodulator you kick and it resumes playing)

"Copilot to Navigator."

"Go ahead."

"Any oil leak from number Three Engine?"

"It's throwing oil real bad."

"Pilot to Copilot - Tarkus, feather number Three. Don't argue, do it **NOW!**"

The engine slowed down and eventually stopped.

"Copilot to Navigator - still leaking now?"

"Nah, it's about stopped."

"Thank the light."

I suddenly felt the plane lurch upwards, and realised Ames had dropped the bombs. I looked below to see them fall squarely on the battlements, blowing them apart and scattering the Orcs around them. _**Yah! Take that you filthy greenskins!**_ I exulted. Sorassa swung around a little more and flew over the docks. Again I felt the plane lurch and the bombs fell with a scream onto the docks, blowing apart one, hitting aother and damaging a Transport, scattering the men aboard it - probably mercenaries.

The formation started flying away, first towards Valiance Keep to shake off the fighters, then back to Fizzcrank Airstrip. As I looked behind, I saw the sky was almost one boiling black mass of flak clouds. I wondered how the hell any of our craft got out of it, and how many were downed.

I was about to find out. Amongst other things.


	4. Back to basebut hammered all the way!

_This chapter is twice as long as the others, but it's the ending. Sorry for the delay, a crate of junk falling on one's head really hurts! I was out cold for a day._

_Also, the song at the end of the chapter is the Axis version of "**I Double Dare You**" by Louis Armstrong._ _I merely reprint it in it's original form._

_Enjoy! And please, do review!_

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><p>It seemed, however, that there were some pilots who were either defiant enough, or insane enough, to keep harassing us even after we were within range of Valiance Keep's Gryphonhawk Patrol routes. As I looked back at that field of flak, I sensed a rising tide of dark energy and swung a bit to the right. I immediately saw him - it was the same Undead Warlock who had knocked out my Intercom. He had a mad, crack-jawed (literally) grin on his face - or what was left of it as he had an eye missing and part of his mouth hideously exposed. And he was still spitting all the spells he could muster up.<p>

They began to slam into the main body of the plane with enormous force, and somehow I guessed he was pouring out not only his magic, but also his rage at us attacking his faction. I swung around so I could nail his hide, but he kept swinging away - he was an extremely skilled pilot. All the while firing his magic.

He fired a volley directly at the tail, which elicited a muted scream. The fellow had hit her with something nasty. In fury, I fired wildly at him, but to no avail.

However, everybody has limits. And he soon reached his. As he drew back to gather his reserves of energy again, he adjusted his flight so that he was exactly behind the Mega-Bomber.

Big mistake.

Less than three seconds after he repositioned himself, a barrage of Auto-Gun fire erupted from the tail, shredding him to pieces - again quite literally. It was gruesome - and just a little comical - to see him fall bit by bit to the ground - first his arms, then his legs, and finally his head. The Wyvern, having lost its master, roared fiercely and made for the plane in a feral state - to be cut down by my Turret gun as I unloaded into the ugly beast.

"Pilot to Tail - Korah, what the nether?"

"_**Argh! Oh Light, help me! My leg! That son of a whore! My leg!**_"

"Pilot to Copilot - Tarkus, see what you can do to help her. And fast."

I heard scurrying below me and a few minutes later Tarkus's voice came over the intercom - "She was 'it in the leg 'ead on - Bane of Agony. Bit of damage to her hoof. I wiped as much as I could an' patched 'er up - she'll live. But damn, I can bet it was painful."

"Turret to Tail - damn, I'm sorry I couldn't hit him faster."

"You better be...and you owe me a beer for this!" She retorted over the intercom with a dry laugh.

I grinned and said "Sure. I owe ya_ two_ actually."

"Pilot to Crew - quit your jabbering and focus!"

"Right, sorry."

Just then I heard another crash - this time it was that Orc Defence Commander attacking - and something went through the centre of the Bomber with a tearing sound.

"Copilot to Radio - come in. What in the nether happened?"

"Radio to Copilot - some equipment damage. Bastard hurled a spear with a **LOT** of force. Going to check on Bombardier."

"Pilot to Radio - is the Bombardier OK?"

"Yeah, he's OK - got some equipment damage and he's rubbing his ass like he might have been zipped there, but I don't think it's too serious." A few moments later, "He says he's OK. Bit stunned, and his intercom's smashed. Nothing else."

"Tail to Pilot - come in."

"Go ahead, Korah."

"765 has been hit - I repeat, _765 has been hit_. Don't think it can keep up with the formation."

At this, I swung around and watched in apprehension as 765 fell slowly. Soon, she hit the ground and - to my horror - exploded violently.

"Tail to Crew - 765 is down. No parachutes. Damn!"

A few moments later Radio spoke up, "Six Chimeras tore her apart. Seemed to me they had time to jump off. It's a damn shame - fine craft she was too." I could sense the anguish in his voice.

Our old faithful aerial warhorse was gone! As we rolled over it, I felt stabs of sorrow. It was like losing an old friend with whom I had shared both escapades and harrowing experiences.

Another fighter zoomed by and cut loose at us with gunfire.

"Tail to Copilot - damn, the Horde seems to be out to get my poor hooves today! A shot damn near got me, crashed on through without exploding though."

I noted that Mega-Bomber Tinker-Toy moved into the position 765 had been in.

"Bombardier to Crew - _Holy Crap_, look at Tinker-Toy, man! She's riddled from the waist to the Tail!"

"Hah! That's Tinker-Toy doing her special thing." said the Radio.

"Copilot to Crew - Dragonhawks incoming at eleven o'clock high! Let 'em 'ave it, Turret! Korah, blast the bastards!"

Surprisingly, they bypassed the rest of the formation and went straight for Tinker-Toy. There was a hit bang in the centre of the Cockpit and a small explosion.

Ames called, "Shit! Pilot's dead! Copilot is hit too! The Radio is trying to move the Pilot's body. Copilot is slumped in her seat - can't tell at this distance how badly she's wounded."

"Turret to Copilot, I just saw the Radio put Tinker-Toy on autopilot until he can get control."

Tarkus motioned to Sorassa to switch over to Intercom.

"What is it?"

"Keep an eye on Tinker-Toy. Pilot is dead, Radio has put her on autopilot and is trying to move the pilot's body. The Copilot's slumped in her seat , we can't tell how bad she's wounded."

"We'll watch her - don't want a collision with Tinker-Toy."

The Dragonhawk fighters kept striking her. One wing was badly torn and an engine cowling had been knocked off. But she flew on. In my mind I could almost hear her taunting those Horde pilots, "**Yah! Yah! You Horde pimps! You can't knock me down! Go ahead! Try it! You square-headed bastards ain't good enough to get me! Yah! Yah! Go ahead and try shooting me down! Yah! Yah!**"

The wounded copilot raised up in her seat momentarily and helped the Radio-op with a control then collapsed again. How could those two in the cockpit withstand the freezing air of the Tundra at this height without windshields, squarely in their faces?

I then realised my left hand was going numb with cold. That normally was a sign the Electric Gloves had burned out. I looked down at my hand. It was bare except for a thin silk glove. Where was the electric glove? Oh! I had removed it to wire the Turret-gyroscope in place. At thirty-five below zero in the Borean Tundra I was handling the metal Auto-Gun control with a hand covered only in a light silk glove normally worn under the electric outer glove.

Impossible! My hand should have frozen solidly in a few minutes. Yet, there I was, looking at a slowly numbing hand and the electric glove was resting where I took it off earlier, before the bombing run. There was only one explanation - in the excitement of the action, my blood pressure must have zoomed sky-high and pushed a large quantity of warm blood to replace the lost heat in my hands (_see, Gnomes can find uses by learning Skinning!_).

As we approached the sky just above Valiance Keep, the Horde Air Force faded out and flew away. My relief at their leaving was soon to be punctured by the antics of Number Three Engine.

The engine suddenly unfeathered and began to spin wildly out of control - which meant the engine oil pressure required to keep the blades steady had failed. Without oil-pressure, the wind speeds would start to rotate the blades swiftly, to fantastically high rotation rates. This was caleed Windmilling. With no lubricant, the engine would overheat and eventually explode, tearing the wing off the craft. In short - we'd be screwed.

The engine revved up and beyond the twenty-five hundred RPM limit. I watched with a sinking feeling as it shot up to three thousand. Then, inexplicably, it slowed down and assumed a feathered position again.

As I recovered my wits, I spoke, "Turret to Copilot."

"Go ahead, Turret."

"Check number Three Engine for an oil leak."

"No oil leak from number Three. What's up?"

"Pilot to Turret, what's wrong with number Three engine?"

"Not sure. Could be a fracture in the oil-pressure valves in the propeller hub that opens and closes. Copilot says no oil-leak so far. If it starts squirting oil again, we'll have a runaway prop."

"Turret to Radio - Grob, how does this sound to you?"

"Can't see how it can be anything but a pressure leak."

Five minutes later the process repeated. All the way back to Fizzcrank Airstrip that propellor would race up to three-thousand RPM and feather itself again. And everytime it did go up, my blood pressure soared with it.

We could have caught fighters again, but luckily nothing else happened. Tinker-Toy had serious landing issues but ended up with nothing more serious than slipping off the runway into the mud just beyond the landing strip. A crowd gathered quickly to see what new horrors she had unleashed on her unfortunate crew. And once again the question - _was she really a Jinxed Ship?_ For the men and women who flew her, it wasn't just another wartime superstition - it was a series of nightmares! That day her nose cowling had been blown off, all windshields wiped, one wing battered and she was heavily damaged from nose to tail. The cockpit was splattered with blood, pieces of flesh and hair - horrible!

When I climbed out of 755, we saw Fizzcrank Fullthrottle waiting for all crews to assemble. He came over to us, looked over the planes, and said, "Well, you boys and girls certainly took one hell of a shellacking. But you got the job done. Good work, all of you. You had better put in a call for some sheet-metal men, all of you will need new engines, quite a few radios seem shattered, you will be needing new windshields and some will need Thorium coating and Wing flaps. You had best replace all your fuel tanks as well, since they are all bound to be perforated..."

As it turned out, we had sent some twenty-four ships and had lost seven. Total loss for the raid was forty-two dead, though this was tentative - if anyone had survived the crashes, hopefully they'd come back to the airstrip. Of the returning aircraft, seventy-five percent were damaged, half of them critically. Also, with a few exceptions, almost every crew had wounded personnel among them - Korah was our casualty. She recovered a few hours later though.

Afterwards I asked Sorassa and Fullthrottle about two things - first was that mechanostrider-sized thing that had flown along us. Fizzcrank laughed as he told me that it was a new way to confuse goblin-made tracking devices by dumping out strips of thin thorium. It confused the devices as it appeared to it as an enemy aircraft, drawing away fire from the actual crafts. Later, we would drop it regularly from our crafts - they called them chaff flares.

The second thing was about the voice in my head. He said that was a phenomenon to which no one had fopund the answer to yet. The Kirin Tor supposed it was the whisper of the unstable Nexus nearby in Coldarra and they were researching it by examining the warp-rifts in the Coldarra strait. But no conclusive answers had been found.

That evening, I strolled out onto the airstrip and saw that the Radio Tower was broadcasting something on an open channel. I pulled out my pocket-trnsmodulator and listened, with amusement. It went as follows,

"_Yo, Alliance dudes and Horde losers in the Tundra! This is the Fizzcrank Airstrip. I'm sure by now news has spread that we bombed the heck outta those smelly Horde fools! In celebration of this, we're playing a song especially for those Horde idiots o'er in Warsong Hold. So sit back and enjoy, folks!_

(pause, thena feamle voice, presumably a high Elf, started singing)

**_I double dare you to come over here._**  
><strong><em>I double dare you to venture too near.<em>**  
><strong><em>Take off your high hat and quit that bragging.<em>**  
><strong><em>Cut out that claptrap and keep your hair on.<em>**  
><strong><em>Can't you take a dare on?<em>**

**_I double dare you to venture a raid._**  
><strong><em>I double dare you to try and invade.<em>**  
><strong><em>And if your loud propaganda means half of what it says,<em>**  
><strong><em>I double dare you to come over here, <em>**

**_I double dare you!_**

I grinned as I listened and looked up that the sky, twinkling with a thousand stars and the Aurora leaping over the shores and the cliffs of the Tundra.


End file.
